I Don't Want to Fall in Love... With You

"I'm sorry, darling, but I can't let you through without an appointment."

Gable Industries was a colossal tower, with more than fifty floors to its name, big open spaces on each level that I was sure led to an equally brilliant-looking office space. Unfortunately, I couldn't even get past the receptionist as soon as I got off the elevator.

She popped some gum as she readjusted her already-perfect bun. She sure was pretty... why did I want her face to meet my fists?

I tapped a finger on the high desk, receiving a scowl.

"I'm not pulling your leg, I'm a family-friend. Can you please just call him and say Anya needs to talk?"

She rolled her eyes.

"Mr. Quinn is extremely busy, I don't think he can squeeze you into – hey!"

She screamed so loud the echo followed, as I jumped through the gap that I knew would eventually lead me to his office. I passed roundabout three dozen booths, meanwhile reading every door I came across, in the hopes that I'd find him.

Looking behind me, I noticed that security was hot on my heels, ready to capture me. The movies lied, these men were in no way fat and unfit. Plus, I wouldn't put it past a company as impressive as Gable to not supply their men with a variety of weapons.

The breath was knocked out of me when I ran into a woman wearing a perfectly pressed red suit. She squealed, pushing me off when, out from the side of my eyes, I saw she'd just left the exact office I was looking for.

"Thanks." I puffed, shutting out her scream as I dived in, locking the door. I could decipher her shrieking more, as security finally caught up and was pounding at the door, like lions to the feast.

I turned around. Elijah's private space wasn't anything I'd ever seen before, wouldn't have been interested either – a week ago. It was spacious, fitting four navy futons that created a perfect square around a white table, a fifty-inch plasma screen mounted on the west wall, antique bookcases and, finally, his desk, which was the darkest brown. It was decorated in memories, utensils and stationary, not at all painting the picture of him as the clean-freak I knew he could be.

The man himself was sitting behind it, eyebrow piqued and blinking at me. Normally, he'd have loosened his tie and kicked off his shoes by the time he came home... so, seeing him, in all his glory, it started something in me.

I didn't know what it was, except that it left me tingly, especially when he immediately rose up and came to my rescue.

Jarring open the door slightly, he coughed, a smile on his face as he addressed his co-workers.

"It's alright. Anya is a friend. Shouldn't be too long."

Soon as the door closed, he edged until he was facing me again. Even in my boots, he was taller than any other man I had the pleasure in meeting.

"I want to ask what you're doing here, but I'm getting the hint this was unprecedented even by you. Is it Emily?" When I just continued to stare, he sighed. "Come, sit, I'll make us coffee."

I plopped down on the sofa, watching as he locked the door once more and then proceeded to fulfil that caffeine promise.

Instead of sitting next to me, like he usually did when I required comfort, he eased himself on the futon to my right. When he caught my gaze, he disconnected instantly, which only ended in my mind reeling.

He placed the mug on the table, the dribble of liquid threatening to stain its porcelain surface.

"I see you didn't bring me that KFC–"

Launching myself straight for him, I straddled his lap, reveling in the hitched gasp he exhaled. He didn't have a chance to do anything before I planted my lips on his, inwardly pleading I wasn't making a fool of myself.

Scrunching the back of his hair between my fingers, I deepened the kiss, slightly shocked when he reciprocated. His arms wound round the small of my back, resting just above my butt. I half-expected for him to draw back, but he was wholly invested.

Pressing our tongues lightly against each other, I tasted the flavor of cranberries. I took it in to the inside of my cheek, where I hoped to savor it till our next opportunity arose.

Moaning into my mouth, I edged my body closer until my chest was at his own, my unimpressive bosom almost hitting his throat.

He tore his lips away from me long enough to say, "God, Anya, stop."

I met his eyes again, watching as a battle raged within them. I didn't know if the side I wanted right now would emerge victorious.

"I'm sorry..." I began.

"Don't." Wandering his vision all over my face, my hand had a life of its own and was brushing his hair back. "I... I want you to stop, for the sake of your dignity and upholding the law,"

Unsure whether that was a flat-out rejection regarding future trysts or just this current one, I all of a sudden felt uncomfortably comfortable.

I didn't even fully understand what overcame me. The combined fear of what Ryan said back at school and what went through my mind in those moments, had they caused me to react on impulse? Did I not think this through?

Of course, the answer was a mixed response. I knew I shouldn't have came here, but I thought a lot. In fact, I'd been focused on us the whole time. On why I'd denied Toby, because...

Well, because he was a boy.

About to prepare myself to jump off and retreat to a faraway place, I gulped when he drew me back in. His belt buckle was scratching at the crotch of my jeans.

"But the other part of me doesn't care. It never wants you to stop."

My breath fanning his face, my eyes slowly watched as he removed one arm from my waist and reached out for my face.

Gently, delicately like one would a withering flower, his fingertips stroked the grooves of my cheek, teased my pores, imprinting bone to memory.

Leaning forward, he cupped my face so I wouldn't go back. Our noses brushed tips, both of them cold and seeking heat.

"Kiss me, Anya Christianson... I wish for you to make it stop."

Even though my heart beat like it was going to burst through my chest, I complied with his wishes. I captured his mouth with mine, holding it prisoner for a few seconds before he responded appropriately. His hold became more secure, as he wrenched me until I could feel his need outscale my own.

Allowing him dominance, I didn't move to prevent him entry into the slip of my jeans. His bare fingers were tracing the pattern of my lace panties, as his other hand tugged on loose locks of my hair, ensuring there was no escape for either of us.

Maybe it was a phase of passion, an unknown driving force bringing us together, but whatever it was...

Neither of us wanted it to end.